


Wanna Bet

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor, Prompt Fill, Romance, never bet against a ben hassrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: “Wanna bet?” Nothing good ever came from those two words together, Varric knew that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago for thatferrybroad on tumblr, and just realized I never actually posted it here.

“Wanna bet?”

Nothing good ever came from those two words together, Varric knew that. He knew it from spending years in the company of Hawke and Rivaini. Hell, he knew it from uttering the words himself from time to time.

He knew absolutely nothing good would come of it, not with what the bet was. And especially not when the words had come from Tiny of all people. Yet, Varric still took the damn bet. Going so far as to shake hands on it to seal the deal, as it were. Even though he also knew Tiny would never forget; would never let _him_ forget. Something about the gleam in his eye told Varric that much.

Krem noticed them across the table, eyeing them askance. Obviously he knew his boss too well. “Should I be worried?” he asked.

Tiny turned toward his second-in-command, smiled broadly and leaned back in his chair. “Nah, Krem, it’s all good.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced, so Krem shot Varric a questioning look. 

Varric shrugged, picked up his tankard of ale. “It’s fine, just my possible funeral we’re betting on.”

A long pause, and several glances between them, Krem finally lifted his brows entreatingly. “Well?” he prompted.

“A difference of opinion–” Varric started, but Tiny’s voice rose above his.

“He thinks Cassandra hates the Inquisitor, I think she wants to fu–”

“A little louder, Tiny, I don’t think they heard you back at the War Table.” Really he just didn’t want him to finish the sentence. It was bad enough wondering at Cassandra’s possible romantic attachments, he didn’t need to ponder anything further. Not when he– Varric stopped that thought before it was fully realized. It was pointless.

“Oh, believe me, Red’s with me on this.”

Varric swiveled around in his chair to face Iron Bull fully, incredulous. “You’ve honestly been talking about … whatever this is, with _Leliana_?”

“She brought it up.” He lifted a shoulder as if that answered everything.

“I have a question?” Krem interrupted, now looking thoroughly amused. That unnerved Varric.

“Shoot,” he replied.

“How, exactly, are you going to suss out Cassandra’s feelings in order to win the bet?” 

“Shit…. I don’t know?”

* * *

Varric was acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual. Though she had no conceivable idea as to why. Not that she had started to really take note of his comings and goings, or his moods. It was an observation anyone would make.

She hoped.

Cassandra thought to ask someone about it. Perhaps The Iron Bull, he and Varric were friendly enough. But he would wonder why she was asking, so she did not. She also thought to ask the Inquisitor, though she had the same worry.

Cullen… no, Varric and Cullen might have known each other for years, but they were not close.

Perhaps she could ask Varric outright, a friendly concern. That was the best option, she finally decided. Only, he seemed to be avoiding her.

It was only by sheer luck, and the fact she had been scouring the library for something new to read, that she found him by the fire late one night. He was writing something, hunched over a stack of papers, quill moving idly across the surface.

The main hall was empty, save a few kitchen helpers clearing away cups and plates from the tables. Though they soon disappeared, their work finished. The silence was only broken by the crackling of the recently stoked fire, and Varric’s quill scratching against parchment.

“Varric?” She kept her voice low as she drew close to the table, hoping not to startle him. Though despite her caution he still jumped slightly, leaving a streak of ink across the page he’d been working on.

“ _Andraste’s tits_ , Seeker. Wear a bell next time.”

“I did not mean to frighten you, I only wanted your attention.” That did not sound right. She wanted to _gain_ his attention. Although, she had to admit, her statement had not been untrue. She did want his attention, even if she did not want him to know that.

“Well, looks like you’ve got it now, Seeker.” He motioned to the chair next to his. “Have a seat.” As she moved around the table and pulled out the chair, Varric uncorked the bottle of amber liquid on the table and poured her a glass.

She smelled it before taking a sip. “Nevarran brandy? I did not take you for the sort, Varric.”

He fringed hurt, one hand covering his chest. “You do me an injustice, Seeker. I might’ve lived off the Hanged Man’s swill ale for years, but I can still appreciate the finer things in life.”

“I beg your pardon then, for such a grievous error.” She wasn’t certain what made her feel so teasing, she could hardly blame the brandy. It was pleasant though, to be in Varric’s company again.

They chatted for a time, about their days, what he was working on – a letter to Aveline – and before her glass was empty she found it full again. Varric looked at her as he replaced the stopper in the bottle.

“Can I ask you something, as a friend?”

That gave her pause, not that he should pose such a question, but that he would use the term friend. Feeling emboldened by the brandy, and warmed by his presence, she nodded.

“You may, though I may not answer.”

Varric laughed a bit at that. “Fair enough.” He took a sip of his own drink before speaking again, his gaze firmly locked on her hands rather than her face.

“It’s just there’s been some talk going around the keep, you know how it is. People are cooped up, they look for things to entertain themselves.. Then they get talking and, well, things can often get misconstrued.”

“Is there a point to this, Varric?” She had no idea what people said of her behind her back, she could well imagine a good portion of it. At least from visiting dignitaries and politicians. The people of the Inquisition were different though, the soldiers and merchants. Still, she did not care to think on it over much.

“Well, the thing is, I was wondering if something is true.” He finally looked at her, though his gaze was almost shy. An odd look on him. “I wanted to know if there’s someone you… uh, _fancy_. Here, at Skyhold.”

Cassandra felt her face flush despite her best effort, and she knew there was no way to blame either the brandy or the fire at her back. She had a frantic moment wondering how anyone could have figured it out, but she supposed she was not the most subtle person in the world. And, as Varric had said, people talk. It wasn’t like Skyhold was a thriving metropolis, where people had endless things to occupy their time. People could find out many things when they were bored with little else to do.

Picking up her glass, Cassandra tilted her head back and drained the contents. If this was going to happen, she would need as much encouragement as she could get. Be it liquid or otherwise. Replacing her glass on the table, she looked Varric in the eyes.

“Yes. There is someone that I care for.” She paused, supposed she should make it even clearer. “Someone that I fancy, as you put it.” 

“Oh. All right then. Good to know,” he mumbled, looking stricken.

Of course he would. Who in their right mind would want her attentions? She hoped to salvage this mess of a conversation, to at least remain on friendly terms.

“I suppose I should have told you sooner. Rather than for you to hear rumors, but there it is.” Cassandra looked down at her hands folded on her lap, and started picking at her fingernail, a nervous habit she hadn’t indulged in since she was girl. “I do not expect my feelings to be returned, though I am glad it is out in the open. It is good to be honest.”

“Yeah. Honesty is good.”

“I am sorry, Varric.” Cassandra shoved her chair back and stood. She hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do. She was horrified to realize her first instinct was to cry. She turned to leave but Varric’s voice stopped her.

“He’s lucky, you know.”

“What?” Cassandra turned back to look at Varric, though he was resolutely not looking at her.

“The Inquisitor, he’s lucky to have your affection. And I’m certain he has feelings for you as well.”

Cassandra nearly collapsed back onto her chair. “Varric, what are you talking about?”

Finally he snapped his gaze back to hers. “The Inquisitor, that’s who you have feelings for. Isn’t it?”

“No, Varric. It is not the Inquisitor.”

“Then who?”

His gaze was intense, and Cassandra found herself unable to hold it. She glanced away, looking to the bottle of brandy, trying to focus on the amber liquid and the way it flickered in the firelight. Her face was hotter still, she was certain she must be as red Varric’s shirt at this point.

Varric let out a breath, “ _Oh_. Oh, shit.” There was a pause and Cassandra scrambled for something to say but came up short.

“That bastard set me up!” Varric finally said, more to himself than to her. Still it had her tilting her head at him.

“Who set you up?”

“Tiny.”

“And how did he set you up?”

“A bet.” The moment he spoke, Varric realized he had made a mistake, his eyes going wide.

Cassandra once again shot out of her chair, a swirl of emotions hastening her movements. “A bet regarding my feelings for someone? Only you were not expecting me to say that you held my affection. Well, this will make for a fine laugh with Bull later, I am certain.”

“Whoa, whoa wait a second!” Varric’s hand was firm, fingers curling around her wrist and yanking her back down to her chair. “That’s not what it is.”

“Then explain it to me.” She was proud that her voice remained even, giving off an air of calm she did not feel.

“It was a lost bet, sure, and it was stupid. But there was a reason I took the bet. I wanted to know, and taking the bet gave me a reason to try to figure it out.”

“Try to figure what out?”

“If I stood chance.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to let out a breath, “Oh.”

“Which,” Varric said slowly, scooting his chair a little closer to hers, until his knee brushed hers, “I’d be willing to say that I do.”

“Want to make a bet?” It was a childish response, but she felt giddy in the moment and couldn’t stop herself.

Varric looked surprised at first, if not a little confused, and then he laughed. “I don’t know, depends if the wager is worth it.”

Cassandra scooted a little closer, took his hand in both of hers, thumb brushing against the inside of his wrist. “I suppose I will have to think of something worthy, then.”

“Well, you can get back to me. In the meantime it’s late, and we should probably both get some rest.”

It was a jarring switch, from the gentle flirtation to a somber declaration, and Cassandra worried if she had done something wrong. Perhaps she had assumed too much.

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” Cassandra let go of his hand, started to pull away a bit before Varric laid a hand lightly on her knee.

“Hey, Cassandra?”

“Hm?”

His grin was wide, unrepentant as ever, and it made her heart do a strange flip-flop inside her chest. “How ‘bout a goodnight kiss?”

She shoved his shoulder gently, and rolled her eyes before granting his request.

* * *

In the morning they both went to confront Bull about the bet, and to figure out how he had known the truth. At the realization of what had transpired, his face fell considerably.

“Shit, now I have to pay up to Red.”


End file.
